03 - Death's Legacy (2 page)

“Ger.” Rudi took a step back, as if startled and confused. “I
don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s all a misunderstanding. There’s no need
for this.”

He flung the bottle at his friend. Gerrit ducked reflexively,
wrong-footed for a moment, and Rudi dived at him, clamping a hand around the
wrist of the young Cap’s sword hand. Gerrit pivoted, trying to throw him, and
Rudi countered, drawing on every street-brawling technique he’d learned as a law
enforcer, keeping on his feet by a miracle.

“Hanna, run,” he shouted, and smashed his forehead into the
other youth’s face. Gerrit reeled back, blood gushing from his nose, and closed
again, swinging his sword at Rudi’s head. Rudi moved to evade it, his feet
skidding on the carpet of fresh snow, and fell heavily. Gerrit loomed over him,
his sword raised to strike.

“Witch-loving bastard,” he said, thrusting straight at Rudi’s
face. Before he could complete the movement, however, he staggered, an
expression of surprise flitting briefly across his visage. The hilt of the
dagger that Hanna habitually kept concealed in her bodice was projecting from
his chest, and he fell heavily to his knees. It seemed that, despite her
exhaustion, she’d lost none of the skill in knife throwing that she’d learned
from Bruno while they’d been travelling with Krieger’s mercenary band.

“Come on.” Hanna pulled Rudi to his feet, with a surprising
surge of strength. She seemed sharper, more alert; although where the energy was
coming from he had no idea. “We have to run.”

“Help! Watch! Murder!” a nearby fishwife screeched, her wide
eyes fixed on Gerrit’s prostrate form. Hanna plucked her dagger from the young
Cap’s chest with a moist sucking sound. None of the passers-by seemed inclined
to intervene—and Rudi couldn’t blame them—but as he forced his legs into
motion, his head spun with the enormity of what had just happened. With that
amount of noise, the watch would be there in moments, he had no doubt, which
might at least save Gerrit…

“Is he dead?” he asked. Hanna nodded jerkily.

“Should be, I aimed for the heart.” She dodged down an
alleyway behind a fish-gutter’s, the stench of old entrails still discernible
despite the bitter chill. Rudi felt a shiver going through him at her words,
which wasn’t entirely due to the cold: Hanna was a healer, dedicated to
preserving life, or at least she had been. Almost as if she could read his
thoughts, she glanced back at him, her pale face framed by the hood of her cloak
so that it seemed to be floating unsupported in a circle of darkness. “I’m sorry
about your friend, but it was him or us, and he died a lot easier than we will
if they catch us.”

Rudi nodded, unable to argue with her. If they were caught,
they’d be burned, there was no question about that. Hanna was a witch, a
sorceress, and her death was inevitable if she fell into the hands of the
authorities. He was accused of heresy, targeted by a witch hunter, which was
almost as bad. If they couldn’t make it aboard the riverboat tonight, they were
both as good as dead.

“This way,” he said, doubling through a courtyard in which
lines of washing hung, stiff as tavern signs in the bitter cold. A low wall lay
beyond it, behind which one of the innumerable back canals that threaded their
way through the city lapped against its banks. Hanna glanced up and down the
waterway, into which the drifting snowflakes vanished without a trace.

“It’s a dead end!” she said.

Rudi shook his head. “No it’s not.” He clambered up on the
wall, and held out a hand for her to join him. She took it, the skin of her palm
feeling strangely warm against his, and bounded up beside him, all trace of her
former exhaustion gone. He had no time to wonder about that now, though. “It
just looks that way.” A couple of planks bridged the gap, placed there by the
residents of the sprawling rooming house that enclosed three sides of the
courtyard, as a makeshift short cut to the boatyard on the other side where most
of them worked. He edged across the frost-slick wood cautiously, trying not to
look down at the scum-flecked water below, or let the snowflakes whirling about
his face distract him too much. They flickered hypnotically across his field of
vision, threatening to overwhelm him with vertigo at every step. Hanna, on the
other hand, trotted in his wake as sure-footedly as if she was merely out for an
afternoon stroll.

“Where are we?” she asked, as they hopped down a pile of
lumber, evidently left as a makeshift staircase on the other side.

“Van der Decken’s,” Rudi replied. The Winkelmarkt was well
known for the quality of its boatyards, which produced most of the small craft
that plied the waterways of Marienburg. The local residents knew the location of
every one of them, but Hanna looked confused for a moment, and he remembered
that she’d spent most of her stay in the city in the Templewijk. “The slips are
on the other side of the yard, near the fish docks.” Hanna nodded, orientated
again, and Rudi became aware that her face seemed to be gently illuminated from
below. It must be the stone she’d carried around her neck since taking it from
the skaven they’d encountered in the wilderness all those months ago. It had
glowed once before, he remembered, although Hanna had been at a loss to explain
the phenomenon. Perhaps it was sustaining her in some fashion, lending her the
energy she needed to get away.

“How are we going to get across the Bruynwater?” she asked.
Rudi had been wondering the same thing. The
Reikmaiden
was berthed on the
island of Luydenhoek, on the other side of the main shipping channel, and only
one bridge, the Draainbrug, crossed the mighty waterway. After what Gerrit had
told them, it was certain to be watched. Rudi shrugged.

“We’re in a boatyard,” he said. Unfortunately that didn’t
help. The only vessels they found were in various states of assembly or repair,
and none seemed river worthy to his inexperienced eyes, at least so far as he
could tell in what fitful illumination was afforded by the lamps and torches in
the nearby street. He began to wish that the baleful light of Morrslieb, the
Chaos moon, was still visible instead of being hidden by the snow clouds. Sickly
and necrotic as it was, even that would have been something of a help.

At length they gave it up as a bad job, and, moving
cautiously, ventured out into the street again. Fortunately, none of the
passers-by on this side of the water paid them any heed, apparently intent on
nothing more than getting to their destinations and out of the snow as quickly
as possible, and they made it through the rest of the Winkelmarkt without
attracting any more unwelcome attention. There were a number of narrow squeaks,
however: several times they were forced to take cover in the shadows or duck
down a side passage to avoid watch patrols, grim-faced men that Rudi recognised
and had once worked alongside, now determined to hunt him down.

A couple of times he thought about donning his own uniform
hat, hiding behind the authority it gave him, and then dismissed the idea. His
former colleagues would be on the lookout for him in any case, and there was no
point in making himself even more visible. They’d be bound to hail another
watchman, even if they didn’t recognise his face at once, to exchange news and
information, and all the other Caps he’d seen were in groups of two or three.
Alone, he’d be far more noticeable than he would be just trying to blend in with
the civilians surrounding them.

They passed into the Suiddock ward at last, and his steps
became hesitant. He didn’t know the streets here the way he did in the
Winkelmarkt, just the main thoroughfares, and remaining concealed would be far
more difficult. On the other hand, the crowds around them had grown as well,
teamsters and stevedores hurrying to work, the bustle of the dock area never
entirely still even at this pre-dawn hour. Indeed, several cargoes seemed to be
on the move already. Taking Hanna by the elbow, he led her in among a tightly
packed string of wagons heading for the Draainbrug. With a bit of luck they
might be able to cross it, concealed by the surrounding traffic.

That hope was soon extinguished, however. Long before they
could reach the marvel of dwarf engineering, the wagons stopped, blocked by a
milling throng of pedestrians and other carts.

“What is it?” Hanna asked anxiously. “What’s going on?”

The carter on the wagon beside them glanced down, and
gestured in the vague direction of the bridge.

Craning his neck, Rudi could just make out the huge tower in
the middle of the river around which the mighty structure pivoted.

“The bridge is open,” the man said. He stood up on his seat
for a better view, glancing left and right. “That’s funny. There doesn’t seem to
be a ship coming.” Rudi fought to keep his face neutral. Of course, he thought.
The first thing the Suiddock watch would have done after getting Gerrit’s
message would be to open the bridge, trapping the fugitives in the southern half
of the city. The disruption would be severe, of course, but the authorities
would be prepared to tolerate it for a little while if it meant catching a
couple of dangerous heretics.

“Come on.” He led Hanna through the growing, and increasingly
restive, throng. Before long, some of the Suiddock Caps would be turning up to
keep order, and they wouldn’t be able to evade detection once that happened. The
bridge was flanked by jetties where water coaches could usually be found, the
Bruynwater being just as much an artery of commerce for the local communities
that lined its banks as it was for the city as a whole, and if they were quick
enough they ought to be able to hail one before too many of the people
surrounding them had the same idea. “Stick close.”

“Like a poultice,” the young witch assured him grimly. He’d
been worried that her exhaustion would return, and that she wouldn’t be in any
condition to continue, but whatever preternatural energy was sustaining her
seemed undiminished.

As they slipped through the crowd, he glanced back, and
almost froze. A trio of Black Caps was forging its way through the crush towards
the bridge, and a couple of them were carrying the unmistakable silhouettes of
blunderbusses. That would have been worrying enough, but the third member of the
group made the breath catch in his throat. Rauke van Stolke was clearing the way
for her colleagues, none too gently with the flat of her sword, directing a
bitter tirade back over her shoulder as she did so.

“Typical,” Rudi heard above the babble of the crowd. “I
finally meet someone who looks like he’s halfway decent, and he turns out to be
a witch-rutting Chaos worshipper.” She vented her anger by barging a halfling
peddler out of the way with unnecessary vigour.

Rudi flushed. Woe betide any petty lawbreaker coming to her
attention today, he thought. With a pang, he found himself remembering the
pleasant meal they’d shared only the evening before, and the sense of wellbeing
that had followed it. He’d enjoyed her company, and had been looking forward to
experiencing more of it. He lowered his head, although from embarrassment at
having hurt the woman’s feelings or the more practical necessity of evading
detection he couldn’t have said.

“Keep moving,” Hanna urged him in an imperative undertone,
and Rudi nodded, relieved at the distraction. The steps to the jetty were close
at hand, and so far no one appeared to have noticed the two fugitives. As they
descended the wooden steps, the snow closed in around them, cutting them off
from the commotion at street level, and he glanced back for a final look around
at the confusion above.

A knot of tension tightened itself in the pit of his stomach.
The trio of Black Caps was unmistakably heading in their direction, and he
cursed himself for his stupidity. Of course, they’d send someone to secure the
jetties too. If he and Hanna couldn’t find a boat in the next few minutes they’d
just walked into a trap.

The snow was falling more heavily than ever, obscuring the
shipping channel in the darkness beyond, but to Rudi’s relief the wooden jetty
was illuminated by a couple of torches, hissing fitfully as the occasional
snowflake drifted into the flames.

“Boats,” Hanna said, sudden hope colouring her voice.

Rudi nodded. “Let’s hope there’s someone here who can sail
one for us.” He had only ridden in one of the innumerable skiffs that plied for
hire along the waterways of the city a handful of times, but that was enough for
him to know that the intricacies of handling the sail would be far beyond him.
He could probably manage the oars well enough, but that would be time consuming,
and the sky was already taking on the first flush of grey, which warned that
dawn was not far off. They’d stand a far better chance of making it to the
candle wharf on Luydenhoek in time with a water coachman piloting the boat for
them. Most, he knew, would still be at home, but there were usually a few about
in the hours of darkness. Marienburg never completely slept, and there would be
coin to be earned for those willing to put up with the inconvenience and
occasional danger of providing transport during the night.

“I think we’re in luck.” Hanna nudged his arm, and pointed.
Beneath a sconce about halfway along the wooden walkway, a handful of men
huddled around a brazier, their breath misting in the air as they talked among
themselves. Their clothing and manner marked them out as watermen, and Rudi
approached them briskly.

“I need passage to Luydenhoek,” he announced, as if that was
a perfectly reasonable request at this hour. “I’ll pay two shillings to anyone
who can get us there by dawn.”

“Two shillings?” One of the water coachmen looked at him
narrowly, and noticing the suspicious expressions on the faces of the man’s
companions, Rudi cursed himself quietly under his breath. That was over four
times the regular fare: hardly the best way to keep a low profile.